Best Measured in Friends
by Alipeeps
Summary: The Stolen Earth/Journey's End tag fic. MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR BOTH EPISODES! The events of the end of The Stolen Earth in more detail. 10th Doctor Whump.


**MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THE STOLEN EARTH AND BEGINNING OF JOURNEY'S END!! SERIOUSLY, YOU WILL UTTERLY SPOIL THE SURPRISE FOR YOURSELF IF YOU READ THIS BEFORE WATCHING BOTH EPISODES!! Don't say you weren't warned...**

_Now then. Once I'd seen Journey's End and was reassured that 10th wasn't leaving us, I could enjoy the whump from the end of The Stolen Earth without it being overshadowed by the fear that this was whumpage of the rather permanent kind! :lol: This story is me enjoying that whump in a little more detail. :)_

_As ever, all concrit/feedback gratefully received._

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_"A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles."_

He tried to stop, to change direction, to throw himself to the side, but he was running too fast and his momentum carried him forward and the beam skimmed him, a glancing touch as he tried to twist out of the way. The impact was stunning, like an intense electrical charge sparking through his entire body in a microsecond, a blinding flash of pain that hit _everywhere_ all at once. It stole the breath from his body and scrambled his thoughts, whiting out the world and leaving him dazed.

He came back to some kind of awareness to find Rose leaning over him, cradling his head. He felt oddly numb; he didn't remember falling, didn't remember hitting the ground, but here he was, sprawled out on the damp concrete in Rose's arms. Rose. She'd found him.

"Rose…" he breathed out her name, his voice turning cracked and tight as pain rippled through him. "Long time no see…" The numbness was fading quickly and the pain made his muscles clench and his body shudder, his eyes closing involuntarily as a strangled groan escaped him. This… this was bad. He gasped helplessly, gritting his teeth. It hurt. Oh, it hurt. He… he tried to focus, turning his attention inwards, trying to assess the damage. Nnnh. Pain. Damage. Oh, there was a lot of damage. Too much damage. He… he was failing.

Somewhere nearby, Rose was babbling, begging him not to die. But she sounded distant, her voice muffled. He was fading, struggling to hold onto consciousness. He felt heavy, helpless, his body weak and unresponsive. And the pain… it raged through him like fire, stealing his breath, leeching the strength from his limbs.

He was vaguely aware of noise – raised voices – and hands, grabbing him under his arms, and of being lifted and of movement, his feet dragging on the tarmac. He was lost in pain, awareness blurring in and out, his muscles tensing helplessly as his damaged, dying cells screamed their agony.

The awkward jostling of movement was torture; he groaned helplessly as fiery pain danced along faltering nerve pathways, his body tensing and jerking involuntarily, hands gripping painfully hard as they struggled to keep their grip. When they finally lowered him down to the floor of the TARDIS (his ship, his beloved TARDIS; he could feel her, feel the subtle hum of their connection as soon as they carried him across the threshold) he was gasping and choking for breath, shudders wracking his body, hard enough to lift his shoulders from the floor.

He opened his eyes to find them hovering over him; Rose and Donna, their familiar faces crumpled with fear, eyes glistening with unshed tears. He wanted to tell them, to reassure them, but the words wouldn't come, his jaw clenching as he tensed and shook with the pain. He stared helplessly at the familiar ceiling above. He was dying. His injuries… there was no time. The Time Lord was out of time. His legs jerked restlessly, his body instinctively trying to curl around the pain.

Jack. Jack was saying something and Rose was crying and Donna was panicking. Oh. She didn't know. How could she know? Rose knew… and Jack knew… but Donna…

He could feel it. Underneath the pain, he could feel it starting; the too-familiar process, the slow, tingling build-up of energy. He raised a shaky hand and stared at it, seeing the faintest of shimmers under the skin. His chest felt tight, his breath rasping in his throat. The wash of light grew stronger, golden brilliance shifting under his skin and he knew the others could see it too now. "It's starting," he gasped.

They were moving, Jack pulling Rose away, wishing him luck, standing clear of him as he shuddered and jerked on the floor, his body curling up on itself. Every single muscle was trembling. But the pain was starting to change, was turning into something else, a growing tension that was in itself almost painful, a humming charge building within him until he felt like he would burst apart. Moving on instinct, he rolled awkwardly and flung out a hand, grabbing hold of the console. With a desperate surge of energy he used the console to drag himself painfully to his feet. He was weak, shaking from the pain and from the intense power building within him, and he clung to the console, hunching over as he leaned his weight on it.

Rose was clutching Jack, her face a picture of despair. "But you can't!" she cried and he wanted to reassure her but he couldn't. He couldn't stop this; he was dying and the process, the change, had already begun, the energy building to a crescendo that made his teeth itch and his muscles thrum.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "It's too late. I'm regenerating."

He straightened up, instinct making him push away from the console, and then, with a euphoric rush, the power exploded inside him, jerking his body into a rigid stance as he was flooded with energy, glowing incandescently bright, humming and sizzling in every single cell at once, streaming from him in flaring golden light.

He shook with the force of it, his head thrown back, eyes open but unseeing, arms outstretched as the energy poured through him, ripping him apart at a molecular level and rebuilding him, a burning, searing flood of power, of _life_. It washed over him like a tidal wave, threatening to simply pick him up and carry him with it. But if he could just _focus_… He could _feel_ the life returning to dead and dying cells, the damage from the Dalek beam being repaired, and he gritted his teeth and forced himself to move, imposing his will on the process, refusing to let it just wash him away.

With a surge of effort he twisted his body, bringing his arms together and channelling the streaming energy. It roared out of him in a searing lance of golden white light, pulling his body forwards as he directed it at the vessel containing his severed hand. He had to brace himself, bending his leg and tucking his head between his arms as the flow of energy ripped through him and out through his clasped hands to be absorbed by the matching genetic material of his spare hand. It was an effort to control the stream, to divert the regeneration energy from its usual purpose and force the massive power out of his body and towards the receptacle; the sheer rush of the energy flowing through him was overwhelming, whiting out thought and awareness. He clung to consciousness with grim determination, his only thought the focus and direction of the flow of energy.

Finally, eventually, the burst of power tapered off with a rush of noise and was suddenly gone, leaving him staggering, the pull of the energy stream abruptly cut off. He gasped, wobbling backwards on shaky legs, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. Still feeling slightly stunned, he took a second to take stock, letting his awareness encompass his entire body. He'd done it. Everything felt… normal. No damage. He'd timed it exactly right and allowed the burst of regeneration energy to heal the damage from the Dalek beam before redirecting it into a handy (Heh. He liked that. Handy. Have to remember that) biomatching receptacle before it pushed him into fully-fledged regeneration. He gasped for breath, his hearts hammering, still feeling the after effects of the immense effort. It had taken massive control and exact timing but he'd done it. He was _brilliant_.

He looked up at the stunned faces of his companions.

"Now then," he gulped, slowly getting his breathing under control. "Where were we?"

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_Fin_.


End file.
